Seasons
by kattomas
Summary: Four loosely related one-shots based on Gale's budding relationship with Madge, one per season. Follow up to Matched, so check it out on my profile before reading this, although it can stand alone. Humor, Drama.
1. Summer

**A/N: _Seasons_ is a series of four loosely related one-shots centering on Gale's budding relationship with Madge, one per season. This was meant to be a follow up to _Matched_, so check it out on my profile if you haven't already read it, but this can stand alone. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

_Summer_

_..._

**Hair Gel and Other Related Disasters**

* * *

It's beautiful. When did the lake become so shimmery? The light from the setting sun reflects off the surface, reminding me of jewels. The brilliance of diamonds. The shine of perfectly cut emeralds. The grass I'm lying in is so soft, so wonderful under my hands, which are occupied with something equally silky and a million times more beautiful.

I turn my head and smile lazily at the girl beside me. Blonde hair I wouldn't trade for all the jewels in the world, even if they looked just like the lake. Hell, they could be _more_ beautiful than the lake, and I wouldn't look at them twice. She's leaning in, and I'm stroking her hair in anticipation. Just a few inches more -

_Ring ring riiing_

I jerk awake, wondering what in hell could be making so much noise. _Screw you!_ I curse in my head, using a few choice swear words that Madge would kill me for saying. I miss my dream already, and my fists are clenched in anticipation of crushing whatever is making that ringing sound. Oh, the things I'll do to that little...

_Ring ring rii - _

Sighing, I flip open - what did Madge call it? - the cell phone and arbitrarily punch the keypad. I honestly don't see the use for this thing. Before, when I was in Two, I unplugged my wall phone because the ringing drove me insane. Having a tiny, handheld phone to irritate the shit out of me at every possible moment of the day? Never. But Madge made me, and she of all people knows I can't refuse her.

"_You can call me whenever you want," Madge says, pressing the slim device in the palm of my hand. "Promise me you'll keep it, it's safer for you." She's holding her own phone, small just like the one she's forcing on me but green instead of silver._

_I raise my eyebrows skeptically. "I can call you whenever I want? Any time of the day I feel like talking to you? Just pick up the phone and dial your number?" I smirk at the hint of fear that crosses her face. Her phone's definitely going to be ringing off the hook. "And why don't I get green?"_

_She narrows her eyes at me. "Wake me up from my beauty sleep and I'll bash your idiotic little brain in," she threatens. "And you can change the color, for a fee."_

_A fee? Never mind the color right now. I love it when she says stuff like that - it's so out of place coming from such a deceptively sweet girl like her (ha! sweet girl... I'll never forget the prank she pulled with my coffee maker) but so funny at the same time. "Sure you'll make good on that promise?" I say in a low voice, grinning evilly. _

_She gives me a little shove and thrusts the cell phone at me. "Just take it. Promise not to destroy it, please?" And then she looks at me, hypnotizing me with her eyes. Blue, like the sea. At least that's what I've heard..._

_Before I know it I'm nodding, tucking the phone in my pocket, promising I won't toss it in the trash or do anything else drastic. With a sweet smile she bids me good night, leaving me dazed. "I won't do anything to it, promise," I call to her, hoping she'll come back and give me a kiss. But the way she scoffs tells me I won't be so lucky that night._

_Later, when my phone rings to announce a call from Katniss - she uses her phone? - I curse Madge's pretty face and sea blue eyes. Why did I ever promise something so ridiculous?_

I sorely regret that I can't bash it against the wall like I really feel like doing at the moment, especially when my eye catches the time on the small screen. Nine in the morning? I don't wake up at Nine on weekends, ever.

Then it hits me. Nine. Today.

Today's the day I dazzle Madge, blow her straight out of the water. Literally? Hopefully, if everything goes well. Which it better. With a girl like Madge, it has to be perfect the first time around. Who knows how many guys like Philip are lined up, ready and eager to take advantage of any screw-ups I make?

Shuddering at the thought of her ex-boyfriend, with both a hint of jealousy and more than a hint of fear, I swing myself out of bed, stretching and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. What I'm willing to do for that girl... she better appreciate my sacrificing my sleep for this little project.

I crack a couple of eggs in a pan, sprinkling an unknown amount of salt and pepper on the yellow mass. On a whim I cut a slice of bread and stick it in the toaster, covering my yawns with my left hand. With a flip of the pan my breakfast is ready to go, and I slip it onto a plate. Eggs and bread. It doesn't get much better than this.

As a scarf down the eggs, I hear a telltale ringing from my room. Does the damn thing have an off button? I trudge into the bedroom and tiredly press the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Gale?" A shaky, high-pitched voice greets me, and I almost groan in protest. "Gale! You have to come down to the office! There's someone here, telling me the trip to Four has been postponed to next week, but that can't be true! The inter-district meeting is _tomorrow_! I have all the paperwork ready, everything's set to go - my calendar says it's tomorrow!"

Kill me now. My idiot of an assistant doesn't know his days of the week _or_ what's going on in the very same office he works in. "Damon? It's Saturday. Tomorrow's Sunday. _There are no meetings on Sundays._" I wait for this to sink in, letting my voice take on the edge that warns anyone on the receiving end of it to stay the hell away from me. "Besides that, _your_ calendar is as reliable as the mail service. The meeting is next Tuesday. _Tuesday. _Of _next week_. Can I trust a miserable whelp like yourself to get that down correctly?"

A pause while he no doubt nods, forgetting I'm on the damn _phone_, then a hasty reply. "Yes, sir, Mr. Hawthorne, sir. S-s-sorry, sir, I won't bother you again, I promise -"

"Just don't call me again," I say warily, hanging up the phone before I'm forced to sit through one of his long, drawn out apologies in his squeaky voice. I'm going to have to get a new assistant. Later, I have more important things to worry about. Specifically, tonight's date.

After quick shower - whoever thought it would be funny to mess with the water heater is going headfirst into my fireplace - I dress and head out into town, mentally going through the checklist in my head. Task One - the restaurant.

I know I'm screwed when I realize that even after knowing Madge for a month, I don't know her favorite food, besides strawberries. And there's no way I'm taking her on a date to the strawberry patch. First of all, she doesn't like them for the taste. Secondly, I've brought her there already. And thirdly, what kind of guy can survive on a dinner of fruit and greens? It's a good thing I learned to hunt - I'd probably die of rabbit food early on in my childhood if it hadn't been for the game I brought home every day.

I wonder who would know what Madge likes to eat. A voice in my head reminds me that _Philip_ probably knows, but I take a mental ax to that thought. She's friends with Katniss, I know. Which means I have to drag myself to Victor's Village and put myself through the torture that is watching a lovesick Peeta grope his wife. Just the images almost persuades me to take my chances and choose by myself, but the more prominent image of Madge grimacing at my horrible taste in restaurants pushes me to walk in that direction.

Destination One, Katniss and Peeta's house, Victor's Village.

Victor's Village isn't really a village for Victors, anymore. A lot of the wealthier Twelve citizens moved into the empty houses and turned the village into a thriving neighborhood. Katniss and Peeta and Haymitch occupy the two houses towards the back, so I have plenty of time to contemplate my mission. Mission Impress Madge.

I can't help but think about how pathetic I'm becoming if I'm naming missions.

Peeta sees me before I see him, and he calls Katniss out onto the porch where he's painting something. As I get closer I realize the face on the canvas isn't just any face - Katniss' features stare at me from its perch on the easel. How many portraits of Katniss does he have hanging proudly on various walls? Does Katniss ever get sick of seeing herself again and again and yet _again_, as she goes about her daily activities?

"Gale!" The subject of the aforementioned portraits in question runs down the steps and hugs me. "Hey! You're just in time, Peeta's cookies are nearly done. All he has to do is ice them. Come in, I'll get you something to drink, there's this Capitol drink called _soda_ you need to try -"

Frankly I tuned her out after the word _cookies_, not at all looking forward to a cheery snack with lovebirds One and Two, but I nod and smile like I've been listening. "Yeah, that sounds great." I know from past experience that Katniss has turned into quite the homemaker and won't register a word of what I say until she's forced a plate of Peeta's latest creation into my hands and I'm seated.

Not that she's lost any of her old fire - I once walked in on her shooting arrows at the wall above Peeta's head the time he suggested they go over to the Capitol and give them the interview they wanted. The expression on his face was priceless. They both knew she could easily pierce his skull if she truly wanted to, but that didn't make the experience any less nerve wracking.

I felt for the poor kid, I really did. At least she didn't take out the knives.

After I've taken a bite of Peeta's cookies and insisted that they're wonderful, not too sweet at all, Katniss looks at me expectantly. "So, why are you here?"

Straightforward as always. "I just have something to ask you," I say vaguely, wondering how to get the information I want without the taunting and teasing I have to endure every time I talk about Madge. The first time we went to one of Katniss' and Peeta's dinners together, their constant snickering and whispering got on my nerves to the point where I was grinding my teeth and wishing I had my bow and arrows. All I had to do was let the string go and _bam_, no more muttering.

Of course, I'm not that lucky. One, I have no bow and arrow, and two, there's that glint in Peeta's eyes, and upon seeing this I instantly regret coming here. Surely there's another way to figure out what Madge likes. I shouldn't have to brave these maniacs. With this in mind, and I stand up and push my chair back under the table, abandoning Peeta's sugary masterpieces.

"Is this about what I think it is?" Peeta asks, already moving to keep me at the table. "You can just ask, you know." His smile unnerves me. Coupled with Katniss' knowing look, they're a formidable force. Who knew the baker boy could be so intimidating?

"Just stopping by to say hi," I say. "Nice picture of Katniss, by the way, Peeta." My hopes that they'll respond to my way of changing the subject are dashed when Katniss blocks the hallway, preventing me from leaving.

"Come on, Gale, give us a break. It's fun teasing you about Madge. Who would have thought you'd end up with the mayor's daughter?" she says, smiling. It's not a sneaky smile, which calms me a little bit. But the fact remains that she's standing in front of my only escape route, minus the windows. I'd rather not resort to something so drastic, though.

To ask or not to ask? I check my watch. I only have six hours until everything has to be ready. How am I supposed to get the right flowers and the gift and all those other things that my co-workers _swear_ are essential to a perfect date? Hell, this is harder than I thought it would be. "What's Madge's favorite food?" I finally say.

Peeta's smirk widens. _Curse you, Mellark._ "Why would you want to know that, Gale?" he asks, as if he doesn't already know the answer. Oh, curse him and Katniss. Nosy busybodies.

"I'm taking her on a date," I say shortly, knowing that the longer I delay answering them the less time I have to tend to the other aspects of said date. Flowers, chocolate, candles, other sappy things... and hair gel so I don't look like a ruffian. Can't forget the gel.

Fortunately for me, Katniss notices my discomfort and growing hatred of her husband. Probably fearing that I'll punch him in the face - distinct possibility, to be honest - she deftly moves in between us, leaving the path to the door open. _Thank you, Katniss_! "You can try the restaurant in town next to the candy shop. She likes pasta, and the desert there is to die for." She glances quickly at Peeta. "Not as good as yours, of course..."

"Take her next door and buy her peppermints or something," Peeta adds, hiding a laugh over Katniss' awkward compliments. "Madge loves peppermints." He's still smirking, but at least I have answers. It'll all be worth it tonight.

"Thanks." I nod at the two and show myself to the door. I brush off Katniss' insistence that I bring Madge over to dinner soon and leave to the sound of badly concealed laughter and whispering.

The woes of Gale Hawthorne, war hero and miserable date-planner.

Remembering Katniss' instructions to the restaurant, I make my way back to town, only pausing to stop by the florist and order a dozen roses. It's not far from Madge's apartment complex, which is good. The restaurant itself is nice enough - small, but the smells emanating from the open windows leave no doubt that the food is just as good as the signs on the door claim.

I push open the door and make my way to the waitress standing near the door at a computer. She's typing away, her head bobbing to the music playing on the speakers, and she doesn't notice me at all when I tap her shoulder. Two minutes and many taps later, I finally raise my voice, not wanting to scare her but needing to make my reservation. When her head turns, I sigh. My day is not going well.

She starts when she sees me. I _know_ that green skin and auburn hair. She's gotten a pair of ridiculous dangly earrings and a set of gold bangles, but there's no doubt in my mind at all.

_Crazy lady, we meet again. Could you please refrain from shoving me in dark rooms this time around_? Hiding another long sigh, I ask her if I can make a reservation for two.

She nods rapidly, her wide eyes on me, and types something into the computer. "What time, sir? Is six okay for you?" The whole time she's looking at me as if I'll slit her throat, and she jumps at the slightest movement I make. She also likes to mutter under her breath, and I'm almost certain I catch the words "can't mess up again" and "she said...!"

Shaking my head, I finish making the reservation. It's going fairly smoothly until the very end, when she tries to put us in what she calls "The Ruby Room".

"It's for couples!" she insists. "You and Madge would love the room!" Her voice gets squeaky with indignation, and I have to tune her out for a few seconds while I gather my wits about me. No one warned me that dates were this hard to plan.

"I don't want the Ruby Room, though," I say. It sounds ominous to me, and I don't think I trust anything this lady says when it comes to rooms. "I want to sit outside, on the back porch." For the thousandth time, I wonder why I can't take Madge to the woods and kiss her senseless instead of going on this ill-fated date. Kissing or dinner with the green-skinned psycho? The decision is simple enough. But no, a _proper_ boyfriend endures little mishaps like this and arranges reservations and buys flowers and candles and hair gel.

Of course I'm a proper boyfriend. Just look at me, ensuring that our dinner goes flawlessly, at much personal risk. Great personal risk. _Extreme_ personal risk, if this woman is any indication of it.

The waitress does that screeching thing again, going completely off her rocker about my wanting the porch and not the creepy room. "You _have _to take the room! You're supposed to sit in that room! Oh, what is she going to say when she hears about this -" Tears stream down her face, leaving mascara trails on her cheeks.

Alarmed, I pat her arm awkwardly. "Er, if you really want us to take the room," I say, not knowing how to deal with crying women. "The Ruby Room is fine. Uh, could you please stop crying?"

She nods, finishing up the reservation. "See you here at six! You'll love the Ruby Room! It's amazing, and you two will be completely alone!" Giggling with delight, a sharp contrast from the sobbing girl from only moments before, she smiles and waves at me as I leave, all the while going on and on about the fun I'll have with my date and the wonderful food and the flickering lights installed _especially_ in the Ruby Room.

Flickering lights? Perhaps I'll change the reservation a little later, when I'm sure her shift is over. Flickering lights scream _bad electricity_, not _my boyfriend is so amazing - he brought me to a restaurant where the lights turn on and off at random times_! If only, Gale, if only.

With Task One completed, I move on to the next item on my mental list. Restaurant? Check. Flowers? Finally, something straightforward. No way to screw up flowers. I even custom ordered them - twelve pink roses, tied with a silk ribbon. Time to head over to pick them up.

Happy to have something easier to do, my face relaxes and a grin spreads over my face when I think about Madge's reaction to the date. I'll walk her out of her apartment, surreptitiously eyeing one of her fancy dresses and curly hair. She'll gasp in surprise when I lead her to the restaurant, sighing and making those eyes at me when she realizes she never told me about her favorite food. We'll have a quiet, romantic dinner, and then...

_Damnit_. I just passed the florist. _Concentrate, Hawthorne_! I double back and enter the small shop, glancing around at the plethora of flowers. I head to the counter, and the man behind it looks up from the bouquet he's working on. "A dozen roses?" he asks, confirming my order. He heads to the back room after I nod and brings out a bundle of flowers, wrapped in crinkly paper and held together by a silver ribbon.

I stare at them, wondering how much a day can suck. "Those aren't Eden roses, are they?" I finally say, resigned to the fact that I'll have to go back yet again after this man gets the order right. No matter, I'll head back after I pick up some stuff at the market. "I wanted twelve Eden roses."

The man slaps his hand on his forehead. "Ah, right! Sorry, sir, I forgot to tell you. We're out of Eden roses. The next shipment from the Capitol will be next week."

I don't even hide my groan. Edens are Madge's favorite type of rose - I know because the last time I was at her apartment I snuck a glance at some of those letters Philip wrote to her before she tossed them in the fire. And the florist just happens to be out, _today_, of all days. "Can I place an order for a dozen bourbon roses, then?" I ask, remembering that she has a certain fondness for them. "Assuming you have them, of course," I add, hoping I don't sound to pissed.

He nods quickly. "A dozen bourbon roses you'll have then, sir." He takes note of my order on a slip of paper. "You understand that you have to pay for both bouquets though, don't you? This one and the bourbon roses?" He gestures at the abandoned bundle on the counter. The non-Eden roses.

"Are you serious? You're the one who screwed up my order. Why should I pay for something I didn't want in the first place?" Despite my best efforts, I know I sound mad. Very mad. They're just roses, and I can definitely afford them, but it bothers me that nothing is going right today.

Glancing down at the flowers apologetically, he shifts his weight. "Well, sir, no one else will buy these, and to be frank the business isn't doing so well..."

_I wonder why_, I think dryly. _If you mess up orders like this it's no surprise no one comes here._ I feel bad about thinking it a second later, but I refuse to take it back. Someone has to take the blame for my shitty day, and here he is, just waiting to take the brunt of my irritation. "Fine," I growl, slapping some coins down on the counter. "This is for both flowers, so don't try weaseling any more money out of me when I come back. And remember - _bourbon roses_. Not any cheap substitute you have in here."

With that I sweep out of the shop, letting the door bang shut behind me. The children playing outside some of the other stores take one look at my angry face and scurry back inside, making me feel bad about yelling at the old man. I decide to apologize later, if he gets the flowers right this time.

Task Two - done. I'm already exhausted and ready to collapse in bed after running around town buying flowers and fending off waitresses, not to mention Katniss' and Peeta's twisted sense of humor. I consider stopping and getting lunch and possibly a nap in before continuing on my mission - Mission Impress Madge - but then I check my watch. Four hours! Only four hours to finish my checklist.

There goes my nap.

Task Three is chocolate, something I'm cautiously optimistic about. Madge likes white chocolate, obvious from her delight at the white chocolate cookies she sometimes brings home from work. She doesn't like spending money unnecessarily, so she almost never has pure chocolate around her apartment, which I'm determined to change. One box of sugary goodness, coming up.

I turn in the direction of the candy shop, wondering if I should go all out and buy her a huge box or tone it down a little and get a smaller one, since I'll be getting her peppermint after dinner. Big box or little box? I feel like going overboard with the sweets would backfire on me, so I go in and pick up a dozen small white chocolates, instructing the woman there to wrap the box.

Well, that went as smoothly as it should have. Feeling accomplished - as accomplished as I could feel after haggling with a florist over flowers - I think back to my checklist. Restaurant, flowers, and chocolate. What was that I tacked on to the end? Ah, right. Hair gel. The supposed key to causing a girl to swoon, an absolute must when taking a pretty girl out on date.

"_That's the key, Gale. The gel! You don't think about your hair much, do you?" Thom looks at him as he would a primary schooler, making me feel like I'm five again, listening to the teacher recite the alphabet._

_I scoff. "My hair is perfect," I insist, running my hand through it. Messy in all the right places, but definitely not tangled. Not too long, not too short. It sticks up sometimes, but that's part of the charm, isn't it? And as I stand there, leaning against my desk, I'm suddenly struck by the observation that I've thought about my hair just that much._

_I worry myself._

_Bristel sighs, shaking his head theatrically. I feel like slapping him upside the head, but I need to hear what he has to say about my hair. "Hawthorne, you're almost a lost cause. Girls love neatness. They love hair that lies flat, that's silky in their hands. They don't like hair that looks like it hasn't been combed in a week."_

_Offended, I glare at my co-worker. "I combed it a couple of days ago!" I say._

_Bristel and Thom look at me for a moment, incredulous expressions on their faces. Then they simultaneously glance at each other and shake their heads, as if in disappointment._

"_It's all in the hair gel. Remember the hair gel, and you're set."_

At least according to my sources at the office - apparently _very reliable_ sources, considering they all claim to have taken "at least a dozen girls" out to various places, some less savory than others. Of course, it's not like I haven't been with girls before - they always did clamor to join me on the slag heap. I smirk at the memory. Irresistible, even back then. But the smirk leaves my face when I remember that none of those I took on proper dates.

Madge is different. I can't drag her to some secluded corner and rely on my seductive good looks. She's witty and intelligent and deserves so much more than the slag heap. Hence my making a fool out of myself to make this date perfect.

I really do hope my friends at work are right about this.

So, hair gel. Where to get hair gel?

I head over to the general market and sneak towards the back of the store, where I know the hair products are. Not, of course, because I've ever needed hair products. But I've heard Katniss complain often enough about her prep team's obsession with the back aisle of Twelve's market - they still come over to dress her up for interviews and public appearances and all those things Katniss and the other victors get dragged to on occasion.

I shudder at the wide arsenal of female torture products and make my way over to the much smaller men's section. There's something distinctly unmanly about standing in the cosmetic aisle and checking out hair gel, but Thom and Bristel swear by it. Nevertheless, I keep an eye out for anyone heading my way, using my hunter's senses, still sharp after years of little use.

Hair gel is not an easy thing to buy. Even for men, there are at least a dozen brands, all packaged in the Capitol style and claiming that it's _just_ the thing for my purposes. Does anyone in the Capitol even care what we use it for? Hell, this kind of gel is perfect for shining my shoes. But I don't think that was the intended purpose.

Before I can use the default for choosing items like this - bigger is _always_ better, unless you're facing a bear in the woods - I hear female voices approaching me. _High-pitched, feminine voices - two o'clock._ I immediately melt into the aisle behind me, relying on my still perfect hunter's tread to mask my movement. I freeze in disbelief when I recognize the melodious tones of one of the girls walking nearer and nearer to me.

_Madge_!

Shit, shit, shit. The bag of chocolates is still in my hand, the scent of roses still on my clothes, and besides that, the aisle I backed into is for feminine products. Hygiene products, specifically. A groan is on the tip of my tongue when I remember at the last second that to give my location away would be setting myself up for the worst kind of embarrassment. It's time to bolt.

"Oh, I needed a new brush." From my awkward position I can just make out the tendrils of brown hair belonging to the girl closest to me. At least there's not much chance of Madge seeing me, if I do this correctly.

_Easy does it, Gale_. Very slowly, I walk away from the group of girls, aware that the slightest crinkle of my paper bag could cause one or all of them to turn. And that would be the end of Mission Impress Madge.

With my back to the other end of the aisle, I eye the back aisle as I make my escape, making sure none of them move from their current positions. I risk moving a little faster as I become more sure that no damage will be done, and I won't be seen, when I bump into a hard, heavy body. _What the..._?

"Haymitch? What the heck are you doing _here_?" It's a valid question on many levels - I thought he never left his house in Victor's Village, and here he is, casually looking at brightly colored packages of feminine protection. Then I catch sight of his face and I know. He's drunk. Very drunk. I suppose it's my job to get him out of the store before he makes a fool out of himself, but a voice stops me.

"What the...?" The brown haired girl mirrors my thoughts quite accurately, stepping closer to me. There's really no time to help Haymitch, and I silently hope that he's able to gather his wits soon enough to get his ass back to his house and sleep off the alcohol.

I sprint out of the door, far enough so the girls can't catch me, earning more than a few bewildered looks and quite a lot of muttered exclamations.

"Sorry," I say to a little girl whose cookie I knocked out of her hand. She gives me the dirtiest look a child so young can manage and runs off to her mother, crying about a crazy man stealing her food, which of course causes her to glare at me as she rocks her daughter. I try to look apologetic, but I don't think I pull it off. "I'll buy you another cookie, I promise!"

After a quick trip to the bakery to appease the girl, I stand in the square with my own pastry in hand. I haven't eaten all day, and it's already almost four in the afternoon. I don't have hair gel, I still need to pick up the flowers, which I only hope the florist didn't mess up, and I'm sure I look a mess. Two hours until my date with Madge, and I'm not ready. Leaning heavily on the side of a building, I finish the rest of the donut, consulting my mental checklist.

The restaurant is set. I'm too tired to run back over and change the reservation so we're not sitting in the Ruby Room with the flickering lights, but maybe my luck will hold and we won't be eating half our meal in the dark. Flowers. I have nothing to say about the horror that is buying roses. At least the chocolate is safely in my paper bag. I'll have to borrow someone's hair gel, though. Who would loan me this most essential item?

Peeta would, but not without an hour of snickering. Because I can't handle a second in his presence at this point, I immediately eliminate him as an option. Bristel and Thom aren't even in Twelve right now - they're visiting friends in Eleven for the weekend. Damon might have a bottle or two, but the last thing I need is his squeaky idiocy. I could wait until I'm sure the coast is clear and go back to the market, but to be honest, I just want to collapse in bed.

Which I do, after picking up the roses - perfectly arranged, and _thankfully_ the correct type. The alarm on my phone should wake me up at five, an hour before I pick Madge up for our date. I sink into a fitful slumber, enjoying the rest but afraid that something will go wrong again, just like every part of my day so far.

When I wake up, I can already tell. Too late. Way too late. Call it hunter's instincts, but the moment I see the sun's rays hitting my blanket at that precise angle, I know I'm screwed. My dead cell phone and the numbers on my watch only further confirm this. It's 5:45 in the evening, barely enough time for me to shower and get dressed, let alone pick up hair gel before I meet Madge. _Damnit._

I toss my phone at the wall, satisfied at the sound it makes on impact. Best damn thing I've heard all day. I spare a moment to kick the broken mess that is the remains of my phone before I jump into the shower. With seven minutes to go, I'm clean and dressed. Granted, my tie is slightly crooked, and I'm not happy with the wrinkles in my otherwise impeccable suit, but it'll have to do. I try to flatten my hair with water, but it refuses to lie down, so I leave it. Madge has never had issues with my hair.

With a last inspection in the mirror, I'm out the door, grabbing the bag of chocolates. It's the only thing I can safely guarantee is perfect about this date, and I'm not about to forget it. My watch beeps, reminding me that in five minutes I should be walking up to Madge's door, cool and collected and prepared for what should be a fantastic dinner date.

Perhaps five minutes will be enough to achieve all of that before she sees me.

The walk to Madge's apartment is short and uneventful, punctuated only by the shouts of children still playing outside their parents' stores. When I reach her door, I pause, gathering my wits and going through the list in my head yet again before I summon the courage to knock. It's just a date, damnit. _Just a date_. I can handle a date.

When Madge opens the door wearing a faded white shirt, sweat-pants, and a towel on her forehead, I find myself seriously questioning that.

"Madge?" She looks miserable - her hair is put up in a messy ponytail, but not in the calculated way that characterized her appearance when she goes to the woods with me. It's lopsided and strands of golden hair are falling out, framing her face. Behind her I can just make out the outlines of a dozen plain bottles, obviously medication. "Madge, are you okay?"

_Stupid question of the century_! She weakly rolls her eyes and gestures to the chaotic scene behind her. As she moves closer to the door frame, a messy bed, piles of clothing, and a seemingly unassuming plastic bowl on her nightstand become visible. Just thinking about what it might contain makes me want to gag. "Does it look like I'm okay?" she asks in a dry tone. "I feel terrible - the worst I've felt in a long time. And today we were supposed to eat out! When I got back from the store I felt so ill... it must have been the stew Greasy Sae forced me to try, I knew it wasn't safe to eat..."

Sighing inwardly I guide her back to her bed and tuck her in - she wasted too much energy getting the door for me. I'm supposed to be worrying about her, not the ruined date I worked so hard to plan, but I can't help but resent Madge's timing. After hours of tweaking every last detail - I woke up _early_ to plan this! - it's all off. Life has a funny way of dealing shit out.

"Don't worry about it," I say when Madge frets over tonight. "It's nothing, we can do that any other time. Focus on getting better first." Within an hour the bag of chocolates is on the counter, the medicines gathered back into her cabinet, and the clothes back in her closet.

"I was trying to pick something to wear - I figured we might still be able to do what you planned for us tonight -" She babbles about tafetta dresses and black high-heels as she falls asleep, clutching the blankets. She's definitely out for the night, if not the week, which means planning this all over again. Exhausted and irritated, I make an executive decision and fall into bed next to her, pulling her close in the moments before my eyes close.

* * *

Three days and sixteen hours.

That's how long I end up staying at Madge's apartment, making food with whatever is left in her pantry and dining on stale bread and chocolate in bed with her in between holding her while she coughs and sneezes and in general feels like shit.

The roses are scattered in pieces all over the floor, after a rather amusing game of "he loves me, he loves me not," which ends in Madge tearing a petal in half and declaring with mock sadness that I do _not_ love her, which of course leads to me doing exactly what will prove her wrong. The petal is discarded along with the remnants of the flowers, and for the next half hour we lose ourselves in my elaborate proof.

When I tell her about my fiasco with the hair gel, she gasps and runs her own small fingers through the mess on top of my head.

"Haven't I ever told you that your hair suits you more than any slicked down hairdo could?"

No, she hasn't. I resolve to slap Bristel and Thom as soon as I get back to work.

Of course she had to show me the dress she bought just for the date, an emerald green number that was supposed to be worn with a pair of shoes that I personally think would trip even the steadiest man - not that I tell her. I instead comment on my preference for her white shirts and comfortable pants, and I'm rewarded with a grin and a sneeze.

"Bless you," I say, ever the charming boyfriend.

She responds by grabbing the tissue box from me.

I stay with her for over three and a half days, and I can't think of any other three and a half days I've enjoyed more. It's hot and stuffy and the faulty air conditioner doesn't help the summer heat at all (soon we're down to eating liquid chocolate, although Madge swears it's still amazing), but I'll take the sweat and germs any day.

Not that I've given up on my perfect storybook date with Madge. Far from it.

Although I _will_ rethink the hair gel.

* * *

**A/N: Poor Gale. **

**Please review before favoriting or following. :)**

**Next chapter - the penny drops. What exactly have Katniss and Peeta been doing behind the scenes?**


	2. Fall

_Fall_

_..._

**A Chance Encounter**

* * *

Thanksgiving.

The very word strikes fear in my heart and makes me want to curl up in my bedroom, because this year the task of feeding myself and two other families has fallen upon me. And guess what? I can't make toast to save my life - that's Peeta's job. Me? I'm just lucky the Mellarks haven't gotten sick of my presence at the bakery every morning... and some evenings too, when Gale isn't taking me out to all of District Twelve's restaurants.

Two wild turkeys, a bundle of fresh herbs, and various vegetables and other food intended for side dishes are scattered on Katniss' and Peeta's counter, since my tiny apartment is barely big enough for me, let alone Gale's, Katniss', and Peeta's families, Johanna, Finnick, Annie, their son, and myself. This'll be the first time that I'll be celebrating Thanksgiving with so many people - before the rebellion I shared dinner with my mother and father; afterwards I either ignored the holiday altogether or went out with some friends.

The part that gets to me? Every single one of them - myself included! - loves to eat. Even little Finn, Annie's son, has a legendary appetite. In other words, if I screw up dinner, there goes the holiday. So here I am, standing in front of a mass of uncooked food, waiting to be tossed together into a series of culinary delicacies.

It's days like these that I wish I fit the old stereotype of an adult woman: fantastic cook and wonderful homemaker. Is it sad that Peeta fits more of those requirements than I do? I already listen to Katniss rave about how clean the house has been ever since they got married. Gale, on the other hand, is always tripping over discarded clothes in my mess of a flat.

Speaking of my flat... I still have Thanksgiving dinner to tackle.

"I'll be in the bakery if you need me," Peeta says, handing me a thick, hardcover book. It's worn from what must be years of use, and the tell-tale stains of various dishes have faded into the fabric binding. In neat manuscript, the words _Mellark Cookbook_ are written at the top. "It's been in the family for a long time. Everything you need should be in here. Katniss and Gale are out getting the rest of the ingredients, but you should be able to start on the turkey."

He then proceeds to show me how to use the oven, the stove, and the rest of the high-tech appliances the Capitol furnished the house with. A whisk. An electric mixer. And finally, a fridge full of luxuries the people of Twelve could never hope to afford when we were children. Butter. Oranges. Cheeses. This room is truly a cook's paradise...

He shows me a little syringe with measurements on the side, and I'm immediately thrown back into the past. I handled something similar countless times at my mother's bedside, administering doses of morphling that gradually increased as the years passed. Before Peeta can say a word, I snatch it from his hands and dispose of it, washing my hands as I pass the sink on my way back. I can tell from the look in his eyes that he knows why I reacted so badly, and he doesn't say a word about it.

"Sorry for... uh, trashing your kitchen supplies," I say, suddenly embarassed. After all, I did just toss what could have been an expensive Capitol apparatus in the trash can. "I can pay for another one, I promise."

He dismisses it with a wave of his hand. "I can order a new one, it's not like I use it that often anyway. So, do you think he can handle the kitchen?" His smile is infectious, but I see a smirk behind it. My kitchen skills are legendary, and I can tell he knows what a challenge this will be for me.

I gingerly poke the metal stove, all silver chrome and glass. "Is this stuff fireproof?" I ask. "And there is a fire extinguisher somewhere here, right?"

Peeta smirks outright and points to a cabinet. "In there. But don't burn the house down, Katniss and I rather like it." He blocks my punch easily and maneuvers his way out of the kitchen to prevent him from getting pummeled by my fists. "I promise I'll come if you call. And all you have to do is follow the recipes in the book - I swear everything will turn out perfectly if you just follow the steps," he says, obviously trying to appease me.

"Get. Out. Of. The. Kitchen!" I say, pretending to swipe at him with the whisk. "You have a couple of pies to make. And if you really want to get on my good side, you'll bring me some cookies. The iced kind, not the chocolate." With a playful shove, he's out the door, laughing at my demands.

"It's my house, but if it pleases you, Chef Undersee," he says as he walks down the steps. "Have fun cooking for..." He pauses here while he counts the number of people eating tonight. "...seven adults and a ravenous child! I'm sure you'll have no trouble at all, Chef."

"Don't call me chef!" I shout just before he's out of earshot. "Be careful, I just _might_ slip a little poison in your turkey!" He knows they're just empty threats though, because if there's any chance Finn might get a hold of it I'd never risk it. Besides, Katniss has wicked aim with her bow and arrow - I don't want to be shot through the head.

As I close the door and ponder what I should start with - potatoes or green beans? - Finn and Annie come down the stairs, hair wet from just showering. "Hey, Madge," Annie says, greeting me and giving her son a push towards me. "Finn, say hi."

Finnick, Annie, and their son came to stay with the Mellarks a week before, since Finnick could get extended leave from his job on the seas and Annie couldn't wait to see the forests of Twelve. Katniss told me a couple days ago when I went to dinner with them that she and Peeta can't believe how much noise Finnick and Annie make at night - it made me blush so much that Gale asked me if I wanted to lie down.

I can't look at the Odairs the same way again.

"Hi," Finn says, grinning at me and showing a full set of baby's teeth. "Are you Miss Madge?" he asks, tugging at my shirt. I stoop down and pick him up, kissing his forehead. He's the sweetest little boy I've ever met.

Annie smiles faintly at her son's enthusiasm. She looks embarrassed at his fascination with the buttons on my shirt. "Sorry about that. Do you think you could watch him while I help Peeta at the bakery? Finnick's picking Johanna up at the train station, and I think they're getting last minute Thanksgiving decorations, since Peeta insists."

It doesn't quite feel like Thanksgiving until there are strings of autumn leaves hung around the house like I used to love when I was little. I make a mental note to call Peeta and see if Katniss would be okay with foliage on the windows. "Yeah, I'd love to watch Finn. He can help me figure out the difference between pots and pans, can't you Finn?"

He claps his hands in delight, making me laugh. "Yeah!"

"Thanks, Madge. Be good, Finn!" Annie leaves after grabbing a handbag and hugging both her son and me. Within minutes, the house is completely empty, save for Finn and myself and two dead turkeys.

Back to the kitchen.

I remember what Peeta said about putting the turkeys in the oven first, so I flip through the Mellark cookbook until I find about ten different recipes for one Thanksgiving turkey... and that's not even counting all the ways I can apparently cook a Thanksgiving ham. Because my culinary skills are severely limited, I choose the page with the least number of words and the shortest list of ingredients. The title at the top of the page claims that it's "District Twelve's Simplest Thanksgiving Turkey."

Time to test that claim.

Finn claps with delight when I show him the book, pointing at the picture and declaring it "the prettiest turkey in the world." I won't let him touch the bird itself though, and I instead give him a pile of herbs and ask him to sort them, a simple enough task that leaves me a chance to prepare the turkey. Besides, I can tell the difference between rosemary and sage easily enough, so if he messes up I won't have that much work to do.

"Here you go, Finny. Could you work at the table? Don't give them to Buttercup, she might get a tummy-ache." Buttercup has to be the mangiest, most irritable cat in Twelve, but Prim adores him and Katniss would never drown anything so precious to her sister. Gale likes feeding him peppers and watching him run around trying to get the taste out his mouth. He'd wink at me and deny all accusations thrown at him, only laughing when we're alone again.

Gale's wink is really distracting. Blushing fiercely and extremely grateful (for the first time that day) that I'm completely alone, I mentally slap myself and reread the instructions.

_1) Pull the neck and giblets out of the cavity; throw out the liver and save the rest of the giblets for gravy_.

Of course I get to gut a bird. There's a reason I never went into medicine, even though my mother would have been ecstatic if I did. Blood and body parts make me nauseous faster than I can say _ew_, thus eliminating all prospects of my becoming a practicing medic. And here I am, pulling the organs out of our Thanksgiving turkey.

Just as I'm gathering my wits, the front door opens and I hear the lithe footsteps of Katniss and the heavier boots Gale wears. Dropping the turkey, I walk out to the front, wiping my hands on a towel. "Hey, Katniss. Is that for me?" She's carrying a little bag with Peeta's initials - it must have come from the bakery. "I didn't think Peeta was serious. Could you thank him for me?"

She nods and smirks as Gale nudges her away and moves towards me. "Sure, Madge. I'll be on my way now, I think Peeta needs me at the bakery." With a wink and a smirk she makes her way out, closing the door behind her and leaving Gale and me alone.

Gale drops his bag on the floor and hugs me, kissing me and making me swoon. "No hi for me?" he asks, his voice low and rough in my ear. He's perfectly aware of the effect he has on me, but he doesn't let up, seemingly determined to turn me into a puddle of star-struck Madge on the floor with just his words. With a little laugh, he finally puts me down and hands me the bag. "Peeta told me you still needed some stuff from the forest."

As I take the cloth sack from him and Peeta's bag from Katniss, I have an idea - one that could save Thanksgiving dinner and give me time to be with Gale before the mob of visitors fills the house. "Gale, you can cook." He looks wary at the statement, but he nods. "You can cook..."

He's already shaking his head. "No way. You can deal with the bird yourself... although I wouldn't object to herb sorting," he says, peering over the counter at Finn, whose humming has been so quiet I've forgotten he's there. "That's something I can't screw up."

Fortunately for me, I know every one of Gale's weak spots, and I'm fully prepared to exploit them to my advantage. Nothing wrong with using my feminine wiles to achieve something I want. I sigh, as if giving in, and pull myself out of his grasp. "Well, I guess that means I'll have to ask you to leave so you don't _distract_ me..."

He instantly takes the bait, moving closer to me and consequently into the kitchen. "Do I _distract_ you, Madge?" he asks. "We can't have that, can we?"

I hide a laugh and evade one of his kisses. (Much more difficult than it sounds!) "No, no we can't. You'll probably have to go so I don't mess up Thanksgiving dinner." Here I know I'm taking a chance - there's always the possibility that he'll pass up the opportunity to muddle my mind with his antics and decide that the food is more important. However, he reacts just the way I want him to.

"You know what, I think I'll stay," Gale says, turning me around and planting a kiss on my lips. "It's fun distracting you."

One kiss very quickly turns into two, and before long the turkey and all the food on the counter has been abandoned. All thoughts of Thanksgiving and herbs and giblets have rushed out of my mind when both of us are aware of a bright set of eyes watching us from the table.

"Miss Madge, is he eating your face? That's bad, Gale! Mommy told me you shouldn't eat people," Finn says, frowning at Gale. He looks remarkably like Annie does when she's scolding her son, and despite my embarrassment at being caught making out by a four year-old, I laugh and reach down to hug him.

"He wasn't trying to hurt me, Finn. It's just something adults do," I say, praying that he doesn't ask any further and goes back to the herbs I gave him. "Why don't you continue helping me with dinner?"

His eyebrows furrow as he considers my proposal, but he shakes his head violently after a few seconds. "Why was Gale doing that to you? Does he think your face tastes good? Can I do that, too?" he asks, his expression becoming more thoughtful while he thinks about that.

Behind me Gale is just barely containing a laugh, and I give him a fierce glare that says _you will pay for this later... I promise._ At least, I hope it says that and not _you, me, back room later_? Grimacing because I'll have to explain to Annie later why her son wants to eat other people's faces. Adopting my sternest expression, I glare at Finn. "You _cannot_ do that until you're 18, otherwise your mother or I will kick you into next century."

Gale taps me on the shoulder, whispering in my ear. "I was doing worse at 15," he says in a low voice. When I slap him he backs away, pretending to look hurt. "Hey, that was totally uncalled for." I slap him again and turn my attention back to Finn, who looks deep in thought.

"Miss Madge, why do adults like eating each other's faces?" he asks. His innocent tone completely contrasts with the question, and I once again inwardly sigh at the situation.

"Adults... kiss when they love each other very much. And you're not old enough to know what that means." There's a tense moment while he processes my answer, and I'm half afraid he'll ask me if he can eat Annie's or Finnick's face. Thankfully, he nods, gives me a wide grin, and goes back to sit at the table.

With a sigh of relief I turn to look at Gale, who's smirking at my answers. "So you'd kick me into next century, too?" He pulls me close again, ignoring my protests. "Hm?"

"Only if you did that with anyone else," I grumble, not ready to forgive him for leaving me to explain why we were making out to a little kid. "And I swear if you mention that to _anyone_ I swear I'll..." I fumble for words, acutely aware of Gale's closeness to me. _Damnit. _

He gets one more kiss in before I insist on working on the turkey again, cold on the counter. Cleaning and prepping the turkey apparently turns me green, so as a favor to me he takes care of the entire thing, seasoning and stuffing both turkeys and sticking them in the oven. The whole time he mocks my terrible cooking and pretends to not understand the cookbook's instructions, looking up words like "baste" and "trussed."

I'll never tell him that I would have looked them up too - I'm suffered enough humiliation today.

Half an hour later, the turkeys are baking, and a green bean casserole is ready to be put in the oven afterwards. I still have a dozen more dishes to make, but I finally feel confident that we won't be dining on burnt toast and water tonight, which is something that was a distinct possibility before. Gale's presence is a huge help, although I wouldn't admit it to his face, because it turns out that he _can_ cook.

Everyone is better at being a normal woman than I am. Oh, the irony.

It's not until I'm leaning against the counter, giving in yet again to Gale's insatiable hunger for my lips - however creepy that may sound - when I remember the other presence in the house. The four year-old presence that has been sorting herbs for far too long to be _just_ sorting...

When I turn around, I see a mess of leaves, disarranged chairs, and one sleeping boy lying on the table with drool coming out of the side of his mouth. For a few seconds I don't quite understand what I see, but it becomes clear enough soon. Finn didn't just sort the herbs... he apparently _ate _them. I may not be a master chef, but I do know that the amount he consumed will give him a raging stomachache.

In addition to the explaining I'll have to do when Annie comes back ("Watching him? I was occupied in the kitchen with Gale, actually. Surely you and Finnick know what I mean."), there's no way I can make the rest of the dishes - which means another trip into the forest for Gale. I hope he isn't too annoyed.

To my relief (and surprise), he's not irritated at all. He welcomes another outing, but it's not until he forces my apron off and drags me through the front door that I realize why. "I have to watch the turkey," I insist, imagining the curses I'll get if the centerpiece of the dinner is ruined on my watch. "Gale, really."

"It takes three and half hours for the thing to cook. We'll be back way before then. Come on, Madge. If we have time we can stop by the strawberry patch," he suggests, knowing that I'll agree as soon as he says that. "Three hours. We have plenty of time."

Three hours... in three minutes I'm walking with him, having put Finnick to bed and locked the door, with orders for Haymitch to keep an eye on him. He grumbles and moans, but when Gale plants a kiss on my lips, he waves at us with his hands and insists we leave as soon as possible, to spare him from scarring my eyes.

"Get out of here, you two. It's bad enough that I have to watch those two -" He jerks his head towards the sign on the front door that says _Mellarks_, scowling. "- and their antics every bloody day. I don't need you and the famous cousin to make it any worse," he says, throwing back his flask of what is undoubtedly alcohol.

All too happy to oblige, we find the entrance to the forest and slip through the gate. I blush as I pass through, remembering the blush-worthy kiss we shared that day in May. I've made many blush-worthy memories here, now that I consider it. When Gale smirks at me, I know he's thinking the same thing. I frown and resolutely push through the thick foliage, determined to not let him see my red cheeks.

The forest is beautiful in the fall. In May it was lush and green, filled with the sounds of animals hidden from my view, but now I find the crackle of leaves beneath my shoes and blazing oranges and reds of the trees even more captivating. Before long I reach a clearing Gale and I have been to before and marvel at the sight of autumn flowers peeking through the soil.

Gale reaches me a few minutes later, delayed because I rushed on a few minutes before and left him looking more carefully for the plants we need. For once his features aren't arranged in a mischievous smirk, only a soft smile that both looks odd on his face yet fits him perfectly. "If I had known you loved the fall leaves so much, I would have brought you here the first time the leaves turned," he says quietly, as if he's trying not to disturb the tranquility of the forest.

I only nod, still taking in the colors. Gale joins me, leaning on a tree, and the kiss we share a minute later isn't demanding like the others I've had but just as intense. It's utterly romantic, and I mentally add it to the list of kisses I've had under trees. The perfect way to spend a fall afternoon.

Unfortunately, I still have a pile of food to transform into something people will eat, and a lack of some more vital ingredients thanks to a hungry toddler. "Let's go," I finally say, for the most part relaxed but beginning to become more nervous as I realize how little time I have left. "If I don't finish in time for dinner I'm screwed."

"_Screwed_, huh?" Gale asks, his tone suggestive. "I don't see how that's such a bad thing." He dodges my kick and follows me into the forest again.

"Can you not be serious?" Beneath my pissed expression I'm blushing yet _again_, because I definitely caught the underlying meaning. "We may have three hours until I have to get those wretched birds out of the oven, but I still have a crapload of other things to make."

For the next two hours, we work to gather everything Finn ate. Of course, as with everything I do with Gale, our gathering is punctuated with kisses he steals when I'm least expecting it. It takes most of my will power and the headache-inducing thought of tonight to keep me from melting in a little puddle on the forest floor.

He has too much of an effect on me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I toy with the idea that this kind of reaction cannot be healthy, but I dismiss it. Anything that makes me feel this warm and fuzzy can't be bad for me. Although alcohol does the same to a person, and look what that got Haymitch.

Before heading home, we make a detour to the strawberry patch. The strawberries are out of season now, but there are still some juicy fruits hanging on the vine. I pick some and place them in my bag too, because while I don't like the taste itself, eating them reminds me of the very first time Gale and I met. Sentimental and sappy, two things I rarely am, but when it comes to Gale I make a lot of exceptions.

Gale snags a strawberry from my hand and pops it in his mouth, spitting out the leaves. "Still amazing. How much would you be willing to pay for these, Undersee?" he asks, reverting back to the sixteen year old Gale who sold me fruit every week.

"Would a kiss suffice?" I ask cheekily, adopting a coy expression. As expected, he leans in, agreeing, and yet another few minutes are spent getting lost in the moment. We've been kissing far too much for my own good. I shake my head to clear my mind and pull him back to the gate.

Some time later, we open the door to the Mellarks' house, red and windswept and covered in leaves. It takes a second for me to realize that we're not alone in the house, not by far. I don't hear little Finn's voice, which means he must still be sleeping off the herbs, but a woman's laugh and the deeper chuckle of a man are audible, mingled with Katniss' voice.

"Glad you could make it, Johanna," Katniss says, and I hear the two women embrace. I know Johanna well enough - snide and all too willing to point out the shortcomings in everyone around her. She has her moments, especially when she's with Finn, so I know she's not all overbearing, and I'm not bothered by her presence. In fact, we've become pretty good friends since she mellowed out in the past years.

It's the _other_ unidentified person in the room that makes me frown. I _know _that chuckle. Gale notices my stricken expression and pulls me back so he can see who it is, but it's too late, because I'm already walking through the hallway to the living room where Katniss and Johanna are. None of them must have heard the door open, because they look surprised to see me, but soon Johanna's greeting me, not so warmly but in typical Johanna-style.

"Madge! I was wondering where you and your boyfriend had gotten off to. Looking good, Hawthorne," she says, winking at Gale, who's standing next to me and shaking the man's hand. "I was just about to introduce the... friend I brought. Annie told me you had an extra room, right? You have to have one, the houses the Capitol provides may be sorry compensation for being in the Games, but they can fit an army of people. Anyways, this is -"

The man interrupts her before she can say another word, looking at me with a strange look on his face. "Philip. I'm Philip. It's nice to meet you, Madge... again."

The atmosphere after that is tense, at least for me. I manage to brush off his addition to the traditional greeting, but everyone knows Philip's and my history. Katniss looks horrified when she finally makes the connection, and Gale becomes stone-faced and possessive, looping an arm around my waist and keeping me by his side, refusing even to let me get drinks with Katniss. Johanna looks sorry that she brought him in the first place and gives me an apologetic glance.

Philip looks indifferent, but the glint in his eyes gives it away. He's mad. Pissed, really. I can tell that he's burning to talk to me alone, but no one will grant his wish. I avoid his gaze, thinking back to the way I ignored his very last letter inviting me to The Hob and the way we never quite ended things before I starting dating Gale. It's a complicated situation, to say the least.

"So," Katniss says, jolting me out of thoughts and seemingly trying to keep the silence from becoming awkward (despite the fact that the whole conversation was awkward, in one very specific way). "What did you and Gale bring back from the forest, Madge?" she asks. "I checked on Finn, by the way - still sound asleep. And only the remains of what he ate littering the floor."

"We found the herbs he ate, since most of the recipes depend on them," I reply, happy to be talking about a safe topic. "I also brought back strawberries - I know they're not really for Thanksgiving, but they still as sweet as they were when I first found the patch with Gale in May." I bite my tongue after that. I hadn't intended to give that much away about the strawberries, especially since they were tied indirectly to Philip.

Philip's expression doesn't change at all, giving me no hint that he remembered what happened in May. "Strawberries are good all year round," he says with a faint smile. "Did Gale know about the patch beforehand?"

"Of course I did," Gale says, the slightest note of indignation in his tone. "I know more about the forest than anyone in Twelve does, except for Katniss. And even then, I'm sure she'd never have found her way around without my help." He directs a good natured glance at Katniss, which she returns with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"And I guess it's too much to show Madge such a wonderful piece of the forest before, right? I'm ashamed that you shared it with Katniss before her." Philip's purpose is clear by this point - he smiles as if he's joking, but it's a jab at Gale's treatment of me and his friendship with Katniss. The message behind the words is obvious: _What kind of boyfriend neglects his girlfriend for another woman_?

I'm suddenly angry at the implications of his statement and feel the urge to say something back to him. "Actually, that was the _first_ place he took me, right before we got together in May. He brought me there after my _date_ ditched me at The Hob one evening." I glare daggers at Philip, imagining spearing him on one of Katniss' hunting knives. How wonderful that would be.

The temperature in the room drops about ten degrees. It was already cool from the autumn breeze, but it's positively cold now. There's a tense silence while Philip meets my gaze steadily and the other three in the room shift in their seats, uncomfortable. Finally he looks away, his mouth already forming his reply.

"What a gentleman he is, then," Philip says. "And what a lousy date. You should be more careful about who you eat out with, Madge. I'd hate for anything to happen to you because you were caught unawares."

I cannot believe he would insult my intelligence like that, and I drop the chilly mask I've donned for his conversation. "Oh, you're a fine one to talk. So nice of you to invite me to dinner after _weeks_ of not writing and _then_ not showing up! _Lousy date_." Fuming, I cross my arms and look away. It's probably not a good idea to piss anyone off on Thanksgiving day, but what the hell. That felt great.

Because I'm not looking at him, I don't notice the change in his expression until he speaks. "Madge... the last time I wrote to you was the end of March, and you replied telling me you didn't want to see me anymore. A _one line reply_. I would never leave you hanging like that." His voice is angry at my supposedly rude letter but also surprised, appalled, _amazed_ that I would suggest anything like that. "I can tell you don't believe me," he continues, "but I promise you that I never sent you a letter in May."

I'm still on the defensive, so I don't quite register his words in my mind till a half-second afterwards. I look up and meet Katniss' eyes, but instead of looking surprised like everyone else in the room is, she looks down, as if she's... guilty.

I address Philip, but I maintain my gaze on Katniss' forehead. She and Peeta were the only ones who knew about my relationship with Philip, and it was no big secret that they didn't approve of him. Besides that, his letters got shorter and less personal in April, something I had always attributed to his growing lack of interest in the two of us. There are some other things too, like what the waitress let slip in her efforts to grab Gale.

"_Katniss said...!" she yells. I see tears on her cheeks, and for a moment I'm worried that we've hurt in her in some irreparable way. But Gale forces me into a sprint, and I become caught up in running away in the hopes that she won't pursue us._

"Katniss!" I exclaim, cutting of Philip. "It's _you_."

She jerks her head up and shakes her head, adamantly denying it. "Me what? Madge, we're talking about you and Philip here, not me."

"No, no. It _is _you. Maybe you and Peeta. But one or both of you! You _set us up_, didn't you? That's why the waitress was so upset when we left. And that's why you and Peeta stayed home that day - when we came to see you hours later, it didn't even look like you had prepared at all to go!" I ignore the confused looks on Johanna's and Philip's faces, caught up in the taste of discovery. Gale's staring at Katniss with both parts anger and gratefulness, which I suppose is about right, because although she got me into this mess with Philip, I never would have talked to Gale otherwise.

Every cloud has a silver lining, I guess. This cloud more than others.

Katniss gives up denying it, and she lets out a flood of information that surprises even me. She and Peeta stole my letters and sent one of their own back to Philip, explaining that I wanted to end it. After that, they waited a while to be sure Philip wasn't contacting me again and arranged to meet with Gale at The Hob, although they obviously planned to ditch him there. They sent me a letter, masquerading as Philip, and gave Octavia - Katniss' stylist and the green-skinned waitress - the task of making sure we ate dinner together instead, but we foiled her plan and escaped to the forest instead.

"We knew we had succeeded, though, when we saw you walk out of the forest some time later," Katniss admits, still guilty.

The smile that has been growing on my face, mirroring Philip's dry laugh and Gale's and Johanna's smirks, disappears as I realize what that means. "You _saw_ us?" Apparently I shared that memory not only with Gale, but with two other stalkers and plotters. As usual, my cheeks do not fail me and I blush, looking at my feet. I don't think I'll ever let Gale kiss me at the gate again.

I get up and hug Katniss, even though she's not one for physical displays of affection (unless it's Peeta). "I should hate you, but as long as you promise not to mess with my mail or spy on me again, we're okay. And I really should thank you - I'm happier for it."

"Philip's my boyfriend anyway," Johanna says, clasping Philip's hand. "So it's all good, right?"

We all stare at their joined hands, Johanna's sheepish and out of character expression, and Philip's smile. I'm surprised, but I realize that beneath that I'm only happy for them. Glad that there aren't any lingering feelings for him lurking under the surface, I hug Johanna too and get a light punch for it. I just nod at Philip, who nods back, his previous antagonism gone. We may never be friends, but I suppose I can tolerate him for Johanna's sake.

Amidst all the hugging, the congratulations, and the general diffusion of the tension in the room, I almost don't notice the smell coming from the kitchen. I take a whiff of the air, and my eyes grow wide. From Gale's reaction, I can tell he can smell it too. An imperfect end to an imperfect day.

Imperfect? This is disastrous.

"The turkeys," I gasp. "And the rest of the food, too." In between kissing and the forest and Philip, I've completely forgotten what day it is. Thanksgiving. Dinner. I'm screwed. "Fuck."

Even Gale is shocked at my language - and he of all people knows that I can curse when the situation calls for it. They dash into the kitchen with me, watching as I open the oven. Of course, they're ruined. Two wild turkeys, cleaned and seasoned, thanks to Gale, and now burnt to a crisp, thanks to me. I swallow and look at everyone gathered behind me.

"You can kill me now," I say seriously. "I only regret that I'm not about to die on a full stomach."

Just like that, the silence is broken, and Johanna and Gale erupt in laughter. "I came all this way for a bunch of beans and potatoes?" Johanna asks, pushing me, although the mirth in her eyes tells me she doesn't really mean it. "I could have gotten that back in Seven!"

Philip gives me a little half smile, and Katniss holds her head like it hurts, although she's smiling too. "It's okay, Madge. I guess I should have checked on it earlier, but I completely forgot, given everything..." Her voice trails off, and I grimace, knowing that if I had just stayed here instead of going off into the woods with Gale, we could have had a decent dinner, and Finnick might not kill me for not having anything to eat.

"Who's up for making sure the rest of the food doesn't burn up and become completely inedible, at Madge's incompetent hands?" Gale asks, gesturing to the vegetables and remaining meat left on the counter. "Just because there isn't a turkey doesn't mean we can't eat." He gives me a half-hug to let me know that he doesn't _really_ think I'm incompetent, only "extremely bad at cooking."

Understatement of the _year_.

* * *

"Pass the strawberries?"

"Finny! Of course you can't have pie before dinner! Eat your food, or Mommy will make you go to your room and sleep."

"At least you don't make a half-bad pie, Madge."

"Oh please. That was all me."

Thanksgiving doesn't scare me anymore. Sure, there's the massive amount of cooking we have to do, but even that's not so bad with several pairs of hands helping make sure I don't substitute sugar for salt - which I _almost _did, but who can tell the difference, anyway? Despite the lack of the main dish - the turkey - there's still plenty of food to go around, and while individually each might not make up for the bird itself, together they make a pretty good dinner.

Finnick freaked out when he learned there was no turkey, but he calmed down once I showed him the sugar cubes. "Almost as good as turkey," he said, popping them into his mouth at an alarming rate. "But next year, I suggest letting someone else handle the cooking." His comment and his wink made me laugh, and I promised I would.

"Fancy a strawberry, Madge?" Gale asks from his seat next to mine, breaking into my reminiscing. "I know they're your favorite." He's back to being seductive Gale, which in part got me into this whole mess. I'm more than willing to overlook that though, because his whisper against my skin is making me forget that if he hadn't lured me out into the forest, I might have gotten something done.

Lured. Yes, he did. Lured with those lips of his. Damn you, lips.

I take the strawberry, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek and not caring that Haymitch is guffawing in the background and Katniss is giving me one of her knowing looks. Johanna, who can't get over the fact that Gale's not emo and not an unemotional slab of stone, tells us to get a room. I pretend to not notice that Finnick and Annie are nodding, smiles on their faces.

I'm glad I managed to pick the last strawberries, both because they represent something more to me and because Peeta makes an amazing strawberry shortcake. Within an hour of discovering them among the food on the counter, he had a cake ready and put in the fridge until dinner was over. He winked at me and tasted a bit of the icing, telling me I could do the same but said he would deny noticing if anyone asked.

Full from the many dishes I managed to eat, I lean back in Gale's arms, completely content and waiting for Peeta's speech. He has a thing with speeches - he forces them onto us for every major holiday, but because no one can hate Peeta we all put up with them.

"Thanks for being here to celebrate Thanksgiving with us today," he starts.

"Here, here," Gale says, grinning.

Peeta shoots him a dirty look before continuing. "As I was saying, it's been an amazing day and we've had a great dinner, even if everything didn't turn out the way it was supposed to." Here he gives me a little look, but after a second he lets up and smiles. "I - we - have a lot to be thankful for, from family, to friends, to food." He pauses here, thinking. "Especially the cake."

The laughter and conversation starts up again, after a spattering of clapping for Peeta. I take a slice of shortcake and eat the icing, letting Gale eat the rest. For the rest of the night, I listen to everyone around me drowsily, from Haymitch and his flask of alcohol, to Philip, sitting quietly by Johanna, holding her hand. On impulse, I look up at Gale and lean forward, so very happy with my life.

"Are you going to eat her face again, Gale?" Finn asks, looking at us curiously. "You know that's not nice!"

"Yes, little man, that's the plan," Gale says, exasperated. "And don't tell me it's not nice when it's obvious she's enjoying every second of it!" He then kisses me, full on the lips in view of every person at the table. "That, Finn, is how you please a lady."

_Too true_, I think, leaning in for another kiss.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews, follows, and favorites. You guys are amazing. :)**

**Sorry for taking so long! I rewrote this _three_ times, each with a different plot. Lol. I hope you're as satisfied with this chapter as I am.**

**Please don't follow or favorite without reviewing.**


End file.
